


Wind in the West

by cirdan



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Humor, M/M, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 04:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirdan/pseuds/cirdan
Summary: In which Newt is rather unprepared, Theseus is a terror, and Percival is just looking to find his feet.A Hogwarts Professor AU.





	Wind in the West

“You utter… twat!”

“Mm, I appreciate that. I know that must’ve been difficult for you.”

_“Theseus,”_ Newt says a bit desperately, and holds the small scrying glass closer to his face as he walks.

“You know, teaching has really done wonders for your vocabulary, little brother. I daresay I’m proud of you.” 

Newt opens his mouth, closes it, and then takes a steadying breath instead. “Y-you set me up!” The crack in his voice makes him feel about half his age, and he ducks into a small space between shops. 

“I would never. Newt, you wound me!” The mock affront in Theseus’ voice is at odds with the cheeky grin he wears. “And where the hell are you? You’ve been walking here for a bloody fortnight! I didn’t portkey all the way up to the Highlands for you to stand me up-” Newt shoves the glass into the pocket of his overcoat and pushes his way towards the Hog’s Head, a small smile twisting at his lips.

“I didn’t take that long,” he mutters as he approaches Theseus at a pub table, now grinning outright. “Hullo, Theseus.” 

“About time, then!” But Theseus is all smiles as he claps Newt on the back, and not for the first time Newt considers himself lucky to have the family he does. 

They settle in with two pints and a basket of chips that Theseus has already half eaten. And then Theseus raises a wry eyebrow and says, “Anything new up at the school?”

Newt makes to respond in sincerity and catches himself. “Of course - of course you really knew,” he groans, but his heart isn’t in it. “And you must know I looked an incredible idiot, too.” He peels at the edge of a paper coaster and, in a rare fit of defiance, locks his gaze with his brother’s. “I’m quite angry.”

Theseus, right bastard that he is, raises his glass and knocks it against Newt’s. “Well, who am I to ever do things by half? Percy’s a good bloke and I’m _sure_ he won’t fine you for permits.” How Theseus is quoting him Newt doesn’t even want to think about. 

But it takes Newt a moment to catch on to what Theseus is implying. “You didn’t-“ And then he feels his stomach flip on itself. “Yes, yep. You did.” 

He laughs bleakly into his hands as Percival Graves stalks towards their table.

 

—

 

The first _incident_ , as it were, occurs the morning prior. Newt Scamander approaches Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with his suitcase of magical creatures in tow. 

It’s early yet, and the day is looking to be a drizzle of clouds and sluggish rain. Newt breathes deeply. He loves the weather and, truly, this place; but the week leading up to the start of term is always a jumble of nerves and anticipation for him, even as a professor of two years. 

He fumbles with the tiny scry-glass Theseus had given him at their last visit. This particular make must’ve cost Theseus (or perhaps his department) a small fortune, and Newt still finds himself hesitant, even now, to bring it out of his case. 

Theseus scoffs. “Well don’t you look chipper.”

“Morning,” Newt replies, as though his brother were a perfectly polite and sane human being.

“So you absolutely made it to Scotland this time?” Theseus asks. “No minor detour through southern Thailand or something?”

Despite the nerves, Newt feels himself begin to smile. “No thanks to you,” he says, and waves the glass at the castle in proof. “And that was one time, Theseus. Certainly made an entrance that year, though,” he concedes, and wipes away the morning dew that’s beginning to fog the glass. Dougal had been pleased with that trip, which made it all the more worth it. 

“Well,” Theseus says, and Newt can already tell there’s something devious in his tone. “I expect this year will kick off at least as exciting, what with the new classes, students, _professors_ -“

Newt’s eyes narrow. “What are you on about?” There hadn’t been a change in staff, as far as he knew.

But Theseus’ “Nothing, nothing” is all he gets in response. 

A small chittering noise draws his attention, though, and Newt suddenly finds that his chance to interrogate his brother has sadly run its course. The niffler, true to form, stands frozen in place just to his left. And how it’s already got its paws on a striking silver fountain pen is frankly beyond him. “You… do know I can see you,” Newt says to it, voice coloured with disbelief. He re-locks his case without even looking at this point.

“-what’s that?” Theseus asks.

“Niffler,” Newt responds, both sagely and in resignation. It’s set off at tremendous speed towards the entrance hall.

His eye twitches. 

“Well, I’d best get back anyway,” Theseus says. “And don’t forget: tomorrow at seven. It’s your round!” With a wink, Theseus is gone and Newt’s left with a cold piece of mirror and a niffler to catch.

“Right,” he exhales, and pockets the glass. In retrospect, Newt supposes he should’ve expected that the events to come would be fairly monumental. That menace of a niffler never seemed to settle for less.

Regardless, he’s lead on a merry chase across the lawn and into the entrance hall before catching the little blighter. The fact that Newt has to slide on his front to do so, wand clamped between his teeth, is beside the point. 

“Hello, dear.” Poppy Pomfrey chooses that moment to nod at him in greeting. She raises a brow at his one man struggle with the tiny monstrosity attempting to pry his fingers off one by one. 

“Rrmph,” Newt replies in what he hopes is his friendliest tone. He’s spent enough time in the hospital wing with burns, bites, and an assortment of other wounds that he now fancies them to be on amiable terms. She doesn’t quite look impressed by his efforts, though, and sighs, snatching the wand out of his mouth. 

“Hello, Poppy,” Newt smiles. Finally managing to flip the niffler upside down, the pen is retrieved along with three sickles and a nib from one of his quills. 

“I’ll expect another busy year at the infirmary, then?” Poppy says, long-suffering. “Between you and the students, I doubt I’ll get any sleep at all.”

“Oh, well - I’ve got a rotation of first year Potions this year. I can have them brewing up sleeping draughts year round,” he adds, because he knows it’ll make her grimace. 

“Yes, that’s encouraging,” she groans.

He returns the coins, nib, and a galleon for good measure before the niffler ventures back into his case. The silver pen, though, he does not relinquish, and now that he gets a proper look at it he can see that it’s been monogramed with a fine script. 

Holding it out so that Poppy can inspect it, Newt asks, “You wouldn’t happen to know someone with the initials ‘PG’, would you?” She shakes her head. 

They’ve begun to make their way towards the third floor, and the staff meeting that awaits them. Even now, it’s a bit surreal: to have been expelled only to return as faculty strikes Newt as rather contradictory on Hogwarts' part.

“There’s a new Defense teacher this year, though,” Poppy says before tacking on, “Natterjack.” The Headmistress’ gargoyle springs aside.

“Galatea has left?” Newt asks, a bit put out at the news. He’d rather liked her.

“Mm, just last week, too,” Poppy continues, shaking her head as they amble onto the spiral track. “Rumor is that the Ministry’s stepped in and appointed an auror. Can’t be too careful right now.”

Newt blinks, rather blindsided. “Wait - _Theseus’ department_ placed the new Defense professor?“ 

Albus, Herbert, and Fil all turn to greet them. Fil, having apparently heard his question, says, “It’s true. We’re expecting a Professor Graves, I think? Rather suiting name for the job.” 

Newt stares down at the monogrammed pen with a dawning sense of unease. _Director_ Graves certainly wouldn’t leave MACUSA for a professorship. Perhaps a family member? But if Theseus is involved, the coincidence is a bit too perfectly timed.

Then the rotating staircase is moving again and Newt, graceful as he is, knocks into the doorframe as he turns. Naturally, the niffler, apparently but biding its time, chooses this moment to make its second grand escape. 

It snatches the pen from Newt’s fingers before tumbling to the carpeted floor.

“Oh, no,” Newt breathes. The niffler’s eyes grow wide as it absorbs the veritable heaven of glittering mementos that is Wilkins’ office. This could, Newt muses, be the last moment he steps foot here, after all.

Poppy mutters “Oh, Merlin” beside him. But Newt catches the creature up just in time, and pries the pen from its sticky paws with a relieved, “Crisis averted!” 

-Only to have the instrument snatched again from his possession. He whips his head around and suddenly his suspicions are horribly confirmed. So. Not a family relation. 

Sizing him up is one Percival Graves, MACUSA Director, last he’d checked, and now apparent Hogwarts professor. 

…Hogwarts professor appointed by the department in which his brother works. 

Newt’s heart is hammering as Mr Graves says grimly, “So that’s where that went.” He tucks the pen into the inner pocket of his immaculate coat. “My thanks.” 

“Of course,” Newt means to say, smooth as you please. But what claws its way out of his mouth is a garbled, “ _Mypermitsareinorder_ ,” and with his single free hand he reaches into pocket after pocket until he finds the stack of crumpled papers he now keeps close. 

Mr Graves, brows together, replies, “Fine work, but I’m afraid that’s no longer my area of jurisdiction,” a bit at a loss. 

Headmistress Wilkins follows Graves into the office. “Indeed not, Professor Graves,” she says. “it’s mine.” 

Newt swallows thickly. “My apologies, Headmistress-“ he begins, but is cut off by a wave of her hand. 

“Oh, don’t look so terrified, Professor Scamander,” she says, silver hair piled into an immaculate braid atop her head. “We all know you’ve stared down far worse than the likes of me.” There’s a sparkle in her eyes for now, and Newt breathes a little easier.

Curiously, at the mention of his name, Newt also sees Mr Graves straighten his posture.

“Though do try to keep your creatures from wreaking too much havoc on my staff and school?” Wilkins adds with a wry sort of grin, and takes a seat at the head of her richly carved table. 

“I’ll do my very best.” 

This time, when Newt coaxes the niffler into his case, it goes freely. 

They take their places and the Headmistress’ voice is warm as she says, “Now, we’ve a lot to cover prior to the start of term, but I do expect this to be a most exceptional year.”

 

—

 

A day later, Newt sips at his beer as he sits elbow to elbow with his brother and a man he thought he’d never truly meet. He thinks he might just come to agree with Wilkins’ opening statement. 

And that he’ll be sure Theseus has hell to pay tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> In her role as head of school, Professor Heliotrope Wilkins preceded Armando Dippet who, in turn, served prior to Albus Dumbledore. Wilkins still has multiple portraits located throughout the castle. 
> 
> The core faculty serving with Headmistress Wilkins are: Herbert Beery (Herbology), Cuthbert Binns (History of Magic), Albus Dumbledore (Transfiguration), Filius Flitwick (Charms), Percival Graves (Defense Against the Dark Arts), Arrakis Marrak (Astronomy), Newt Scamander (Care of Magical Creatures), and Horace Slughorn (Potions).
> 
> And as Hogwarts would not at all be the same without Poppy Pomfrey, she will hopefully forgive the author of this story for the implication of her age.


End file.
